


after

by emkat97



Category: Ocean's 8 (2018), Ocean's Eleven Trilogy (Movies)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, JUST SO MUCH FLUFF OKAY, Love, Team as Family, i love this movie so much, precious babies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-05-26 11:47:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 14,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15000254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emkat97/pseuds/emkat97
Summary: a collection of fluffy oneshots/drabbles/ficlets/whatever my (and your!) little heart desires, centered around future O8 headcanons and one-word prompts.mostly deb x lou, but there will also be pieces with the whole team because who can resist The Power Of Friendship?individual chapter tags included in notes :)





	1. kiss

**Author's Note:**

> Hello friends! Guess what, I'm obsessed with this stupid gay movie!! Didn't think that's how my summer would go but I am not complaining!!!
> 
> Originally I wanted these all to be 100-word drabbles, but there was NO way that was happening. So here we are!
> 
> I'll be accepting as many prompts for these as possible because I just love writing them. Whatever you want, I will make an attempt! Just shoot me a message on Tumblr (smashingmagicklovely).

  1. **_kiss_**



****

The first time they kiss, it’s short and sweet, a quick peck on the lips as if to say “see you soon, honey, be safe, call me when you get there”. It doesn’t register for either of them until Lou stops quite literally in the middle of the street; did that _actually_ just happen?

As much as they hated it to admit it, there had always been a certain air of domesticity to their relationship. It was familiar, it was warm, it was strangely comfortable and simultaneously infuriating. But they didn’t understand how to be a couple, and at that point, neither of them wanted to take the time to learn. A romantic relationship wasn’t a necessity, nor was it even a desire. No, Debbie and Lou were perfectly content with the relative stability of their arrangement.

Of course, this peacefulness was immediately ruined because the second, third, fourth times they kiss occur in immediate succession, sloppy and hungry as Lou climbs on top of Debbie, hands in hair, skin on skin on mahogany countertops. 

There was no turning back from this, was there? Not that they’d ever want to, what with the things Debbie could do with her fingers, and Lou with that _tongue_ , and how they just fit together, and how it was so, so, _so good_. They flirted how they fought, and they fought how they fucked, and for a while, everything was blinding light and stealing liquor from the corner store like teenagers and slick heat between thighs on cool autumn nights and holding hands in bed at 3 AM and Lou and Debbie and Lou and Debbie and Lou and Debbie. 

They kissed countless times before Claude Becker, before prison, before the Met. And they kissed after, with six years’ worth of unspoken promises and unfinished business on their lips.

All of those ‘after’ kisses began to hold more meaning. 

They kiss when Lou walks into her bedroom in the loft late one night to find Debbie on the floor, empty bottle of vodka at her side, leaning against the side of the bed, alone, bawling. She misses her brother, and they both knew this moment would have happened sooner or later, but Lou doesn’t hesitate to slide right down next to her, wiping her tears, shedding a few of her own. They probably look like idiots, but when they press their lips together, everything in Debbie’s head is finally quiet for a few seconds.

They kiss on a dare from Rose, before anyone knew they were officially back together even though it was _so fucking obvious_ to _literally everyone_. It must drag on a little long, though, because Daphne makes some comment about the need to come up for air and when they finally do, the room has been cleared in anticipation of what was sure to come next.

They kiss when the clock strikes midnight on January 1st, just the two of them at home, snuggled up on the couch. Everyone else had gone out that night; Amita had enthusiastically dragged them to Times Square at 10 o’clock in the morning (wasn’t she a lifelong New Yorker? She really should know better, Debbie thought to herself) and when they got back they would be _very_ drunk and _very_ talkative and not ready to face the wrath of their inevitable hangovers the next morning, and that wouldn’t be Debbie or Lou’s problem. Debbie had never had a New Year’s kiss quite like that one, delicate and fleeting, but quickly growing into something more passionate, heavy, fervent. Pulling away from each another, Debbie spotted the tears in the corners of Lou’s eyes that she quickly blinked away. Sprawling out on the couch once more, they savored that little moment of serenity. 

They kiss, three years after the Met, on the beach in Tahiti surrounded by their six best friends, who are all whooping and hollering, taking video, spilling champagne and practically dancing around the bonfire because there’s Debbie on one knee and there’s Lou sobbing, sobbing, sobbing, somehow able to blubber out “ _baby, you never needed to ask”._ They wrapped their arms around each other, laughing and crying at the same time, and Lou thought that if everything they had gone through together had been leading up to this moment, shit, she’d do it all again in a heartbeat.

And when they kiss on their wedding day, it feels like all the stars have finally aligned.


	2. slumber

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "As fatigue settled into her bones, Debbie never felt more relieved to see the soft glowing light coming out of Lou’s room."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alternate titles: Gays in Bed, Wow! Look How Married You Are!, Anything Is Funny When You're Tired
> 
> chapter tags: debbie x lou, sharing a bed, domesticity, kinda implied daphne/rose, adorable couple is adorable
> 
> as always, taking prompts for these. enjoy!

_****_ **2. _slumber_**

 

To say that Debbie Ocean was exhausted would be an understatement. 

She had gotten back to the loft at around 2 that night, after a late dinner with Daphne and Rose and scoping out a new department store that had recently opened on Bleecker Street, right by Bowery. That cool 38 mil might be sitting pretty in her bank account, but Debbie couldn’t help it if she wanted to snag a few new bottles of perfume every now and then. It was never about the money, anyway; always the love of the game, the thrill of being one or two or twenty steps ahead. To her, it was as natural as breathing.

No one knew that better than Lou. 

Sure, she had needed the money more than Debbie ever did, even when Debbie only had 45 dollars to her name, but it didn’t change the fact that Lou could’ve gotten out a while ago, and even though she claimed she _tried_ , Debbie knew it was bullshit. Lou was smart, the smartest she’d ever met. Even her low-rate cons dripped with elegance and precision and had that special _something_ that made Debbie fall in love with her to begin with. If she’d truly wanted out, she would’ve done it, because Lou _always_ got shit done. 

Try as she might, Debbie was never able to stop herself from feeling incomplete when she went out without Lou, especially when she was with Rose and Daphne. The two of them were practically an item themselves, and the crowds would whisper as Daphne confidently made her way to their private room in whatever restaurant they had picked. As the cameras flashed, Debbie would wince. If Daphne wanted to go out (and Daphne _always_ wanted to go out), she’d inevitably end up wearing a wig or something, anything that would keep the press away from the notion that the winner of the 2011 Teen Choice Award for Choice Hissy Fit was involved with an internationally recognized criminal.

It was a lot to handle, and Debbie had to give Daphne some credit. That girl had been dealing with exorbitant amounts of attention for years now. Debbie didn’t know how she did it. Maybe Daphne had a cocaine habit. It wouldn’t be all that surprising.

Debbie snorted as she pictured Daphne doing lines off the back of some male model, leaving fragments of hot pink lipstick on tan skin. Opening the door to the loft, she sighed. If these were the thoughts she was starting to have, she really shouldn’t be allowed to stay up past 1. As fatigue settled into her bones, Debbie never felt more relieved to see the soft glowing light coming out of Lou’s room. 

Kicking off her heels and haphazardly dropping her purse in the living room, Debbie peeked her head into the room and was greeted with the sight of Lou sprawled out on top of the covers like a starfish, clad in a tank top and leggings, her face buried in one of the many pillows. Even if Debbie _wanted_ to jump into bed immediately, there would be no literal jumping without breaking Lou’s body in several places. 

A poke in her side. “Hey.” 

Lou groaned. 

Debbie tried again. “ _Move.”_

Lou rolled over onto her side, revealing bloodshot eyes and the sloppiest attempt at taking off eyeliner that Debbie had ever seen. Debbie must have visibly grimaced, because Lou scoffed before turning away from her, mumbling, “It was a long night, all right?” 

Eyeing the overturned bottle of Ambien and the half-empty bottle of whiskey on the nightstand, Debbie replied, “I can tell. So are you trying to actually sleep or just kill yourself?”

“Shut up.” 

Sliding the silk nightgown over her body, Debbie crawled in next to Lou and planted a kiss on her exposed shoulder. “Missed you tonight.”

“Mmm. Turn the light off.”

“Oh, baby, were you _waiting up for me_? My _stars_ , I do suppose chivalry is _not_ dead!” 

At this, Lou rolled around once more and cut Debbie off with a long kiss. “Shut. Up.” 

Debbie grinned and reached towards the lamp. Wrapping her arms around Lou’s waist, they laid like that for a while until Lou said, “’Course I was waiting up for you.” A pause. “I always do.” 

With that, Lou’s Ambien finally kicked in, and they were both out.


	3. shine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amita has a thing for flowers.
> 
> chapter tags: FLUFF, FLOWERS N FRIENDSHIP
> 
> alternate titles: I LOVE AMITA

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments are always appreciated!! figured we could all use a momentary break from deb and lou :)

  1. **_shine_**



 

 

Amita enjoyed pretty things.

 

Ever since she was a little girl, she reveled in how exquisite one could feel when draped in luxurious fabrics, dripping with jewelry, lounging on a beach in some exotic country.

 

Not like she ever had an opportunity to feel that way. Her family wasn’t made of money.

 

But her dad had tried to make life as comfortable as possible for her when she was small, would’ve traded every star in the sky for her, and for that she thought the world of him. Every time she had a falling out with a friend in middle school, or had her heart broken by some stupid boy who cared more about looking good than he did about her, her father would take her out for ice cream (mint chocolate chip – their favorite) and then they’d take a stroll down Fifth Avenue.

 

Hand in hand, Amita and her dad would window shop, stare up at all the designer clothing and talk about Amita’s hopes and dreams for the future. One time they even got pedicures together.

 

When Amita would lay in bed, mad at the universe, her father would come into her room, sit on the edge of the mattress, and pat her leg.

 

“Never let anyone tell you that you don’t deserve to shine,” he had said.

 

And Amita held on to that notion with all she had, this idea that one day, her life would be so magnificent, so _utterly spectacular_ , everyone would stand up and take notice. “Look at Amita,” they’d say. “Look at how she _shines._ ”

 

Which, of course, was a load of horseshit.

 

No, Amita was stuck in a life that was going nowhere, with a mother who drove her up a wall, no husband, no prospects, no _hope._

Debbie Ocean coming back into her life had been a shock, to say the least, but a pleasant one. Amita knew people, and while Debbie might be a criminal, she was irrefutably a _good person._ And she was empathetic. She had lost Danny around the same time Amita lost her father. They both kept their grief to themselves, but it was nice to know that someone was there and that someone understood.

 

And the promise of loads and loads of money didn’t hurt, either.

 

On the off-days, when they had to play the waiting game with moving cameras or 3D printers, Tammy would take a day trip and go home, Constance would pickpocket on Wall Street, Debbie and Lou were...Debbie and Lou. Everyone had their own _thing._

 

Except for Amita.

 

She didn’t know what her thing was.

 

Until she decided to take a walk and was struck by the little patch of grass that laid vacant on the side of Lou’s property.

 

The soil was dry and cracking, but there were still signs of life, a couple tufts of weeds here and there, a lone dandelion on the very edge.

 

Amita picked that dandelion, and while on any other day she would have blown on it and made a wish, today was the day that she decided that she would nurse that little dying patch back to health.

 

And she did. She slaved over it. Constance would look at her like she was absolutely fucking nuts when she threw on her big sun hat and gardening gloves, but Amita grew to love it. There was something about the tenderness in keeping a garden that she adored. Diamonds were great. But once you start working with them every day, you grow restless with the hardness, the shimmer. Amita wanted to shine, but not like that.

 

She liked the idea of creating something beautiful and natural. Something she could call her own. She picked out seeds for flowers, one for each of the women in the crew, although she’d never tell them. Carnations for Debbie, daisies for Lou, marigolds for Nine-Ball, peonies for Rose (the irony of this did not escape Amita), zinnias for Tammy, and hydrangeas for Constance. She saved a special section for her dad’s daffodils.

 

After the heist, Amita folded her shimmering gold gown into thirds and placed it gently at the bottom of her suitcase. She didn’t think twice about leaving the crew, or leaving her mom, or leaving the city, but she did think about her little garden.

 

But she left, because there was no way she wasn’t going to see this thing through, this _guy_ who thought she was funny and beautiful and kind. This guy who thought she _shined._

Until he didn’t.

 

Amita, staring out the window of the private jet back to New York, felt emptier than she ever had before. Sure, she was a multi-millionaire now, but that didn’t change the fact that she was alone. Like she’d always been.

 

She called Debbie as soon as the plane landed, and Debbie didn’t hesitate to open up the loft to her once more.

 

Upon walking in and dropping her suitcases on the floor, Amita’s face lit up.

 

They’d all come back.

 

All of them, Daphne taking the weekend off from her newest project, Tammy driving up without the kids, _everyone was there._

“I want to show you something,” Debbie had whispered in her ear, before grabbing her arm and leading her outside.

 

The vibrant colors of the flowers danced across the pavement, made the entire corner light up. The daffodils were planted right in the middle.

 

Debbie smiled. “Couldn’t let it die just because you weren’t here.”

 

Amita flung her arms around her friend’s shoulders. Debbie Ocean really was the _greatest._

Heading back inside for pizza and wine, Amita settled into her usual spot on the couch and looked around, and she realized something.

 

Who _cared_ if she shined?

 

Because she was already surrounded with people who made her feel like a diamond, and that’s all that mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, before writing this: amita is so underappreciated! i wanna do a drabble about HER  
> me, now: AMITA IS A PURE ANGELIC QUEEN, I WOULD LAY DOWN MY LIFE FOR MINDY KALING, THIS WHOLE MOVIE GOT ME FUCKED UP
> 
>  
> 
> comments are my lifeline!! leave a comment and i'll send you one (1) free flower of your choice!!


	4. learning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Contrary to popular opinion, they didn't know *everything* about each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: ANGST, deb x lou, painful past, established relationship, i promise i actually love lou please don't kill me
> 
> alternate titles: Poor Lou, Why Do I Love Writing These Two Talking In Bed So Much?
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: implied abuse/mutilation
> 
> please leave a comment!

  1. **_learning_**



 

 

You learn a lot about another person over twenty-plus years of friendship.

 

This would be true of any pair of best friends, but it was especially true when it came to Debbie and Lou.

 

“Best friends,” snorted Constance. “Sure. Keep telling yourselves that.”

 

To the rest of their crew, Lou and Debbie were the quintessential soulmates. No matter how bad they fought, or however long they were apart, they _always_ found their way back to one another. Always. They just did it, it wasn’t even a question. They were better together.

 

Debbie understood this. Believed it was true, _knew_ it was true.

 

But sometimes, in the quiet moments when it was just the two of them alone in the loft, she wondered if Lou knew it, too.

 

Because contrary to popular opinion, they didn’t know _everything_ about each other. They knew the important things, like blood types and allergies, and they knew the little things, the details that the girls would fawn over when they told the stories on lazy Friday nights. Debbie knew that Lou cried, without fail, every single time she watched _Beauty and the Beast_ and that she was an avid reader of Tolstoy and Kafka. Lou knew that Debbie had dyed her hair blue when she was nineteen (it wasn’t a good look for her) and that she had broken her left arm in three different places, three different times. They could keep pages and pages of lists of all the things they knew about each other.

 

And yet, certain things were left unspoken.

 

And they probably always would be. They weren’t intentionally keeping secrets, there were just things that they didn’t like to talk about. They accepted that about each other.

 

For Debbie, that thing was her stint in prison.

 

Debbie had survived. Debbie had _thrived_ in prison. She ran her operations, she kept her head down, no one found out. She was a _good_ little prisoner, except when she wasn’t.

 

But she had seen far too many things she never wanted to see in the first place; heads slamming repeatedly onto toilet bowls as the water ran red, screaming children trying to break down the partitions separating them from their mothers, women choking until their eyes rolled in the back of their heads. She’d made _multiple shanks_ , for God’s sake.

 

So she didn’t talk about it. That didn’t stop her from having nightmares, from waking up multiple times a night in a cold sweat, from grabbing onto the sides of the bathroom sink to keep the room from spinning.

 

Lou caught on quick. She always did. And if Debbie didn’t talk, Lou would. She’d stroke the back of Debbie’s neck or hold onto her hands in an attempt to ground her back in the real world, and then she’d start rambling on about her day or the new bike she had her eye on or new developments in astrophysics, and Debbie would listen, completely enraptured by this woman who knew so much and who knew Debbie most of all.

 

“I wrote something the other day,” Lou had whispered to her late one night, her fingers wiping the desperate tears from Debbie’s face. “Wanna hear?”

 

Debbie had nodded and after Lou disappeared for a brief second to grab the guitar from under her bed, she let herself be carried away by the soft strumming and Lou’s low voice in the 4 AM glow. Her speeding heart began to slow and she was finally able to relax, and Debbie realized that she’d never be this in love with anyone else, because this was _home_. Lou felt like home.

 

Debbie could only hope that Lou felt the same way about her, because while Debbie’s actions, intentional or not, deceived her, Lou stayed stony. Whatever was going on inside her head, Lou simply wouldn’t give it up.

 

Debbie knew from the moment she saw the faded, pink circular scars that they were cigarette burns.

 

They peppered Lou’s back like gruesome chicken pox that just never went away – they were light enough that Debbie could tell it’d been a long time since they made their initial appearance, but the fact that the scars had stuck around meant that the burns had been deep and painful. Intentional.

 

Debbie wasn’t the only one who’d noticed them. One afternoon, as Lou slid her blazer off her shoulders and strode towards the front door, Rose had yelped, “What _happened_? Are you okay?” Lou stopped, turned around, and stared at her like she had absolutely no clue what Rose was referring to.

 

“Your _back_ ,” Amita urged, blinking furiously, looking like she was ready to call Child Protective Services on a fully-grown woman.

 

“Oh, that,” Lou had replied nonchalantly, putting the blazer back on. “Tragic childhood.” She smirked, winked, and went outside without another word.

 

Everyone looked around at one another with the same furrowed brow, because _what the fuck was that?_ Six pairs of eyes landed on Debbie, who merely shrugged.

 

But Debbie wondered.

 

And she started noticing things.

 

Lou had always startled so easily when anyone moved to touch her. When Debbie brushed her fingertips against her lover’s hips from behind, Lou would immediately react with closed fists and white knuckles, and when Debbie would turn her around to look at her, concerned, the look in Lou’s eyes could only be described as pure terror. It was fleeting, never lasting more than a second before softening and returning to normal, but it was there nonetheless.

 

Whenever Tammy started to tell a story about her kids, or Nine-Ball invited Veronica to Friday night dinner, or Amita complained about her mother, Lou would get up without warning and promptly exit the room, quietly shutting the door to her bedroom behind her. On the few instances Debbie had peeked in, she’d seen Lou curled up in a chair, knees tucked under her, occasionally nursing a glass of whiskey, staring out the window. Like she was searching for something she lost a long time ago.

 

Lou’s room had a small bathroom adjacent to it, in the corner, no bigger than a closet. All it contained was a toilet and a sink, and while Debbie only used it when Lou was taking too long in the shower, she was always struck by the sheer amount of pill bottles that littered the vanity top. Pain meds on pain meds on pain meds. It made her wonder just how much _pain_ Lou was actually in, what kind, how much she could withstand at one time, how much Debbie herself had inadvertently caused.

 

She shuddered.

 

One night, before heading out for a long night of bar-hopping in celebration of Constance’s birthday, Debbie had thrown open the door, scouring the bedroom for Lou’s watch because she had forgotten it and was currently occupied outside, trying to wrangle five unruly drunks with an exasperated Tammy. Rifling through the drawer in her nightstand, Debbie stopped when she came across a simple silver rosary. She ran her fingers over it gently, then closed the drawer, finding the watch thrown haphazardly on Lou’s bed. Debbie left the room feeling like she had stumbled upon something she should never have seen.

 

Lou Miller was a true enigma.

 

And she wasn’t talking any time soon.

 

So when Debbie found herself with her head between Lou’s thighs, as was the typical Tuesday night routine (which neither of them objected to, to be quite honest), she took the opportunity to touch the scars that lined Lou’s hips and legs almost down to the knee. Lou gazed down at her, shifted, and pulled Debbie in for a kiss, but Debbie resisted.

 

“Talk to me.”

 

Lou raised an eyebrow. “Right now?”

 

As she stared, Debbie could sense how uncomfortable Lou was getting, and yet she couldn’t tear her eyes away. Studying her, carefully, quietly, as gently as she could muster, Debbie posed the question she’d been holding back since she was released from prison. “Are you okay?”

 

After a second, the corners of Lou’s mouth turned up ever so slightly. “Deb, I’m fine.”

 

“Would you tell me if you weren’t?”

 

Lou’s blue eyes looked grey in the moonlight. “What’s gotten into you?”

 

Debbie traced a particularly dramatic scar with the tip of her finger. “Nothing. Just checking in.”

 

Lou chortled. “Thanks, _mom._ ”

 

“You really want to talk about your mom right now? While you’re naked? I mean, I don’t remember you being into that, but I suppose there’s a first time for everything...”

 

Lou smiled, burying her face in Debbie’s hair. “You’re insufferable.”

 

“I learn from the best.” Debbie rolled onto her side. “Seriously. Everything’s okay?”

 

“Honey, you worry too much.” Pushing her bangs out of her eyes, Lou pulled a blanket up and around her bare shoulders.

 

“Sometimes I don’t think I worry _enough_ ,” Debbie started, eyeing up her partner. “Is that our problem?”

 

“I wasn’t aware of a problem, Deb. Go to sleep.” With that, Lou placed a quick kiss on her cheek and immediately turned away.

 

Rome wasn’t built in a day, so Debbie decided to leave it at that.

 

But something must have been different about that night, because Lou grabbed her hand and placed it on her hip, letting Debbie caress her, her palm fitting perfectly around the mangled skin.

 

“I was eight years old.”

 

Lou didn’t say much after that, but Debbie was more than willing to listen, and she always would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one was HARD to write, y'all, but i felt the need to, even though i kept getting stuck. I'm thinking of doing a one-shot of Lou's Very Tragic Past, so think of this as a sort of prelude to that.
> 
> as always, comments are my lifeline and they are very, very much appreciated!! if you comment, i'll send you one (1) link to the pic i put on facebook of me posing in between the Ocean's 8 and Mamma Mia 2 posters, with the caption THIS IS MY GAY AGENDA
> 
> love y'all. truly.


	5. precision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quick meditation on Rose Weil.
> 
> comments are very much appreciated :)

In true artist form, Rose Weil was a slave to her craft.

 

Often times, growing up, fashion was her only friend. Fashion was her sanctuary when she had to hide in the bathroom to eat her lunch, or when she was the only girl in her class who didn’t get asked to the dance, or when she got teased for having curly hair.

 

Fashion was a state of mind. It lived on some plane of existence that Rose could only describe as the middle ground between being alive and being dead. There was something so unbelievably satisfying about the control Rose was able to exert over her designs. The way she could hold a pen and make that pen do exactly what she wanted. And the way what she wanted could _change_ , due to some happy accident. Fashion was planned and purposeful, yet spontaneous and vibrant. It was anything and everything, all at once.

 

Rose’s grandmother, Eleanor, taught Rose how to sew when she was nine years old. She learned fast and started crafting whatever she could – dresses, scarves, hats, tops, what have you. She’d sell them at reasonable prices to the kids down the street, fervently shaking her head when their parents told her that going into the fashion industry wasn’t a viable career option.

 

Rose knew what she wanted to do. So she did it.

 

It was so simple, as natural as breathing. And she was _happy_. Oh, she was so happy. She’d embraced her weird side a long, long time ago, put it all into her work. Laid her soul bare and dared anyone to try to change her.

 

And then everything came crashing down.

 

Just a few bad decisions, really. Maybe a handful. Or ten. Or twenty.

 

And all of a sudden, she had lost her empire, and her youth, and her _joy_ , and taking that editor position at Marie Claire was looking a lot more appealing.

 

Indulging in her Nutella was strictly reserved for panic attacks.

 

Indulging in her Nutella while essentially being seduced by a no-nonsense brunette and the most fabulous blonde she had ever seen was strictly reserved for earth-shattering panic attacks; _was she really about to assist in robbing the Met?_

Apparently so.

 

Daphne Kluger was a sight for sore eyes. Rose really did enjoy working with her. She was outwardly vapid and insensitive, but Rose could tell she had a vibrant inner life that made her sparkle.

 

Rose stayed up all hours of the night working on Daphne’s gown. Thinking about that necklace. Thinking about her life. She’d bite on the end of a pen, staring at her blueprints, ignoring the cup of coffee that Debbie would wordlessly slide over to her at three in the morning.

 

This was going to be _magnificent._

Rose knew she was a liability. She knew that she was being slowly but surely introduced to a dark and dangerous world that she knew nothing about, and she could easily be the one to mess it all up.

 

She refused to do that to them.

 

Because Amita would talk trends with her over breakfast (“I read a lot of Cosmo,” she admitted shyly), or Lou would finish the random Shakespeare quote that Rose would inevitably say at some point throughout the day, giving her a sly wink before sauntering off to find Debbie.

 

No, Rose had never met a group of people quite like Debbie’s crew.

 

They didn’t judge her for being weird. They accepted it, wouldn’t ask for anything more from her than who she was. Rose felt more authentic, truer to herself than she had felt for years, even before bankruptcy.

 

It made her think. If someone like Daphne needed more female friends, who’s to say that Rose didn’t too?

 

They made her confident, they made her sharp, they made her _better_.

 

Rose Weil always knew what she wanted.

 

She could make jaws drop with just the flourish of her pen on paper.

 

She got her store.

 

She got her friends.

 

And somehow, with the assistance of those seven women, a gigantic diamond necklace, and over 30 million dollars, she found her way back to herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rose is so sweet and pure, she deserves the world, and once I think of a TRULY proper ficlet idea for her, I'll surely write it. 
> 
> Until then, hope you enjoyed this little thing!! needed a little break in between the previous piece and the next one because.....hoo boy do I love making Lou angsty and broken. get ready y'all.
> 
> as always, i'd love to see your thoughts!! if you comment, i'll send you one (1) shakespeare quote that rose just randomly knows off the top of her head.


	6. mother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected revelation at Debbie and Lou's engagement party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm nervous about publishing this.
> 
> MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING: rape + assault

“Your turn, Daphne!”

 

Daphne wiggled her eyebrows and poured a third glass of champagne.

 

What had started out as a routine get-together, approximately two and a half years after the heist to end all heists, had quickly evolved into a miniature engagement party. It had taken Constance all of twenty seconds to notice the rings on Debbie and Lou’s fingers that evening and point at them, exclaiming, “Look at the lesbians!!!!”

 

Laughter and hugs and a couple of tears were exchanged, and they had all settled onto the couch and floor roughly half an hour ago after breaking out anything and everything that Lou had in her multiple liquor cabinets.

 

“Okay,” Daphne started, licking her lips, holding up her glass with the rest of the girls. “Never have I ever...” she drew out the last word as she searched for a target, mischief dancing in her eyes, before settling her gaze on Tammy. A devilish smile on her pink lips, she continued.

 

“Never have I ever been pregnant.”

 

“OH, COME ON!” Tammy, already more than a little drunk, flopped back onto the couch dramatically, pouting. “ _Not_ fair.” She put her final finger down as the girls howled.

 

“You’re playing Never Have I Ever with a group of criminals. You really thought this was going to be fair?” Debbie clinked her glass with Rose, who sat next to her, curled up in the fetal position for reasons unbeknownst to the rest of the crew (they didn’t question a lot of what Rose did). “Thank God for Plan B.”

 

Constance threw a hand in the air as if to praise Jesus. “ _Shit, fam,_ I’ll drink to that!” Another whoop of laughter bubbled up then died out.

 

After lighting up a new blunt, Nine-Ball pointed at Tammy. “Come on, girl, you ain’t gettin’ out of it. You’re officially _out_. Gotta finish the drink.”

 

Tammy sighed. “I liked this game so much more when it didn’t involve alcohol.”

 

“But it’s a _lot_ more fun this way! Plus, you don’t have to play anymore. I, on the other hand...” Daphne trailed off, staring at who was left – Amita, Rose, Constance, and to everyone’s surprise, Lou. “I am going to _fucking win_.”

 

“Daph, you know winning Never Have I Ever isn’t exactly the goal – ”

 

Daphne stopped Debbie with a sharp point of her finger, her voice low and threatening. _“Not now, Deborah.”_

Debbie got up from her seat on the couch to pour herself some more wine, mumbling, “What are you gonna do, monologue me to death?”

 

Amita began bouncing on the couch cushions, her rosé spilling onto the floor. “Drink! Drink! Drink!” she chanted, prompting the other girls to join in.

 

Tammy picked up her glass, swirling the amber liquid around with a little too much vigor. “I hate you bitches,” she mumbled, before shutting her eyes tight and downing the rest of the liquor to the sound of muted cheers.

 

“ _Hold on.”_

 

Rose’s voice rose above the giggles as Tammy lowered her glass. She was holding her hand out delicately, looking as wispy and ethereal as ever, one bony finger pointed in Lou’s direction.

 

“She drank too.” Rose’s eyes were wide and her raspberry-stained lips were set in a straight line.

 

Six heads swiveled around to stare at Lou – even Debbie’s – and Rose turned her attention back to her drink, sipping daintily through a straw.

 

“Um...what?” Constance broke the silence.

 

“You’re kidding, right? You were just drinking to drink, right?” Amita crossed her legs, sounding more than a little concerned.

 

“Shit, if _Lou’_ s pregnant, I’ll have twelve more kids. That is my promise to you,” Tammy said, only partially joking.

 

Nine-Ball, through a puff of smoke, gestured to Lou and Debbie and remarked, “Wait, are y’all...oh, _that’s cute._ I can see you with a lil’ criminal.”

 

Daphne squealed, and Debbie snorted.

 

“Please. You’d have to sedate me if you really expect me to subject myself to a life of peanut butter sandwiches and parent-teacher conferences.” She sipped the wine. “No offense, Tam.”

 

“None taken!”

 

“If you lot would _shut your mouths_ for one second, I’ll explain.”

 

Lou removed her legs from the coffee table and sat forward in her seat. Her words came out quickly, clipped and blunt.

 

“I got pregnant when I was in my final year of secondary school. I was seventeen. My boyfriend and I –”

 

“WAIT slow down, there was a boyfriend?!” Constance was literally on the edge of her seat, eyes bugging out of their sockets. She looked around at the rest of the crew. “Am I the only one losing their _fucking mind_ over this?!”

 

“Let her speak,” Tammy gently interjected, gazing upon Lou with worried fascination.

 

Lou sighed, closing her eyes in exasperation. “ _Yes_ , I had a boyfriend. Didn’t exactly grow up with the greatest home environment. Definitely wouldn’t have been safe for me to come out and...” Lou bit her lip, searching for the words. “I got good at pretending to be someone I wasn’t. First con, if you will.”

 

A hush fell over the group. Debbie peeled Lou’s fingers away from the beer she was gripping and set it down. Tammy swore when she was drunk, Amita flirted, Rose cried (more than usual). And Lou overshared.

 

“Shit...” Nine-Ball closed her laptop and peered at Debbie, who had turned her head and was currently staring at nothing in particular in the kitchen.

 

“So...you got an abortion?” Amita’s eyes were watery.

 

Lou blinked a bit, then shook her head. “Miscarriage, actually. Fifteen weeks.”

 

Daphne gasped, and Debbie could have killed her for making Lou relive this.

 

Although, she supposed, Lou was the one making the decision to tell them.

 

Sort of.

 

She wasn’t telling the whole story.

Lou had told her about the miscarriage and the events surrounding her brief pregnancy. For whatever reason, she was remarkably transparent about it.

 

She didn’t blame Amita for thinking Lou would have had an abortion. She had taken one look at Lou and figured that this was a woman who took an unexpected situation and did what she had to do. It’s how she worked jobs; Lou could improvise and cover her own ass like no one else.

 

This, however, was different.

 

Debbie reached out and covered Lou’s hand with her own, their engagement rings reflecting light onto the ceiling. She looked at her, trying to communicate.

 

_You don’t have to do this to yourself._

Lou, mouth hanging open just slightly, seemed to get the message. She cleared her throat and picked up her beer once more. “So now you know. Come on, this is a party! How have I lived longer than most of you and yet I'm _still_ not out? Constance, it’s your turn.”

 

“Um...yeah. Okay.”

 

As the game continued, Debbie eyed up her partner. Lou laughed a little too loudly for the rest of the night.

 

*

 

“Thought they’d never leave,” Lou murmured, cracking her neck before popping her contact lenses out. Debbie, who sat on the end of their bed, brushing her hair, let out a hum of agreement. It was nearing three in the morning, and the rest of the girls had stumbled into an Uber half an hour ago, leaving Deb and Lou to gather the scattered bottles together and try to recreate what their living room used to look like just a few hours prior.

 

“Ow,” Debbie winced, ring getting caught somewhere between her scalp and the hairbrush. Lou sat down next to her, working her fingers through the tangled mess, attempting not to rip the hair out of her head.

 

“Maybe remember to take it off _before_ getting ready for bed, yeah?”

 

“I usually do.”

 

Lou smirked. “Tell that to the black eye you almost gave me last night.”

 

“Your face is fine.”

 

“Yeah, _barely.”_ Lou nuzzled Debbie’s neck. “Could’ve killed me.”

 

“So why did you lie to them?”

 

Lou pulled back. Narrowing her eyes slightly, she coughed, then got up and started rearranging the jewelry on top of her dresser.

 

Debbie threw her legs onto the bed, a pillow propped up behind her back. “I’m not judging you, I’m just curious. Because we both know there wasn’t a boyfriend.”

 

Lou’s arms were stiff as she leaned against the dresser. After a few seconds, she finally said, “It was our engagement party, Deb. Forgive me if I thought talking about rape would be a bit of a downer.”

 

“ _Stop._ Be serious for one second. _”_

Lou glanced over her shoulder, disgust written all over her flushed face.

 

“You know it’s not exactly _easy_ to talk about, right?”

 

Debbie leaned forward. “I know. That’s why I’m wondering why you brought it up in the first place. It’s a stupid game, Lou. You could’ve just not said anything.”

 

“Well, I did.”

 

“I know, I was there.”

“Don’t patronize me, Deborah.”

 

“Lou, would you just – ”

 

“Forget it,” Lou grabbed a tank top from the floor on her side of the bed and stalked towards the room’s edge. “I’m not fighting right now. If you’d like to continue criticizing the decisions I make, I’ll be in the bathroom.”

 

Debbie scoffed as she heard the slam of the bathroom door. Lou was an expert at disguising her feelings when she needed to. If Lou was choosing to be vulnerable, choosing to be open with people other than Debbie, it meant she was hurting. And perhaps Debbie had overstepped a few boundaries, should have tried a different approach, but who could blame her for wanting to know what Lou’s thought process was? Sometimes she wished she could just read Lou’s mind, instead of constantly having to work her way through a web of sarcastic remarks and childhood anecdotes.

 

But since that would never be the case, she’d have to apologize.

 

Fifteen minutes later, after Lou didn’t come back in, Debbie grabbed her favorite blanket from the pile on the floor and headed towards the main room, where Lou was curled up on the very edge of the couch. Debbie draped the blanket over Lou’s shoulders and Lou tilted her head towards the other end of the couch, not bothering to look at Debbie.

 

Debbie obliged and positioned herself opposite her fiancée. After a couple seconds, she started.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

Lou finally looked at her and nodded, puffy eyes and all. “I know.”

 

Debbie could count the number of times she’d seen Lou cry on one hand, and every single time it happened, her heart broke.

 

“Come here.”

 

Lou was too tired to say no, so she untucked her legs and Debbie pulled her close. If it were any other night, the roles would have been reversed; one of Lou’s hands absentmindedly working through Debbie’s hair, Debbie’s head on Lou’s chest. Tonight, Lou closed her eyes at Debbie’s gentle ministrations before letting out a shuddering sigh.

 

“It’ll be twenty-five years this September. That’s why I brought it up. It’s been a part of me for twenty-five years. Not talking about it...it gets to me.”

 

She looked up at Debbie.

 

“I should be some twenty-five-year-old’s mum. And I’m not.”

 

“I know, baby. I know.” Debbie shifted slightly, pulling Lou into an upright position. “But what you _are_ is still pretty fucking phenomenal.”

 

Lou scrunched up her nose at the sentiment.

 

“You would’ve kept the baby, then?” Debbie wondered.

 

The question was met with a long silence.

 

“Yes.” Lou was quiet. “Without a doubt.” She pushed her bangs out of her eyes. “I would’ve made it work.”

 

“In Australia?”

 

“No.” Lou was adamant. “I was getting out of there no matter what. I was stupid for staying as long as I did.”

 

“You were abused and you couldn’t get out. That’s not your fault.”

 

“Yeah, well...” Lou stood. “Every single Sunday I had to spend the morning staring at the man who raped me. You’d think I’d have done something about it earlier.” She leaned against the wall, staring out the window at the New York City skyline that never stopped being beautiful.

 

“But it’s okay that you _didn’t._ Look at me.”

 

Debbie knew Lou hadn’t always been a fighter. She acted like it, but Lou had been molded into one, had experienced enough pain to last a lifetime, wore it all like a badge of honor. Both Debbie and Lou knew how to enact a revenge plan. But at seventeen? It was too much.

 

Needless to say, Lou had changed a lot in twenty-five years.

 

“You’re here now. And you’re safe. And he’s rotting. That’s what matters.” Debbie joined Lou at the window.

 

“Sick fuck,” Lou mumbled. “Never would’ve gotten a chance to see his son anyway, that’s for damn sure.”

_His son._

_Oh, Lou._

 

“My life didn’t turn out the way I planned, Deb.”

 

“It never does,” Debbie agreed, wrapping her arms around Lou’s waist. “But it’s not over yet. Don't forget...” she leaned in and whispered, “We’re getting married.”

 

Lou pressed a smile into her shoulder. “We are.” Taking one more deep breath, Lou turned around. “Alright. I’m fine. It’s late. Take me to bed, Deborah.”

 

Debbie kissed her temple. “Gladly.”

 

Curled up together, Debbie was just about to drift off, when:

 

“Deb?”

 

She opened one eye.

 

“Did you mean what you said earlier with the girls? About never wanting kids?”

 

_Yes, Lou. That was never a part of the plan, Lou. I’m sorry, Lou._

“Not...exactly.”

 

“Really?”

 

_You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. You want kids, we'll have kids._

“I could be convinced, that’s all I’m saying.”

 

Lou stretched and bit back a smile.

 

“Good to know.”

 

*

 

_two years later_

Grace took to Lou right away.

 

It had all happened so fast. Jennifer had chosen them roughly five months into her pregnancy, and life had become a whirlwind of baby-proofing and crib-assembling and trying not to burst into tears of joy at any given moment.

 

Jennifer was sixteen. She was scared.

 

She was _Australian._

It was a no-brainer.

 

And the moment the nurse brought Grace out and handed her to Debbie, Lou was enthralled. She didn’t notice the way Debbie was looking at her because she was too busy staring at the tiny infant in Debbie’s arms.

 

When Lou held her for the first time, it was like the world stopped turning.

 

“Hi,” she whispered, as Grace squirmed around, blinking up at her.

 

“I’m your mama.”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so so sorry i keep doing things to Lou. this is all leading up to a separate backstory piece that i'm mapping out, but I just......kept thinking about this??? So it happened.
> 
> Bit longer than the other pieces! but it's been on my mind since I started writing this little series, so here we are.
> 
> as always, comments are so so SO very appreciated. if you leave a comment, i'll send you one (1) cookie of your choice. not oatmeal raisin though. NEVER oatmeal raisin.
> 
> love you. hope you're well.


	7. snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Debbie’s first Christmas in New York City after being released from prison.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this is easily my favorite piece i've written for this series so far. i hope you enjoy reading it as much as i did writing it :)
> 
> chapter tags: MERRY CHRISTMAS IN JULY!, heist wives, BANTER, established relationship, SO SO FLUFFY, GOD I LVOE THEM
> 
> please please please leave comments! tell me what you'd like to see :)

After being incarcerated for upwards of five years, the last thing Debbie wanted to do was stay cooped up in Lou’s freezing loft on what she considered the most joyous day of the year.

 

She loved Christmas. She didn’t have a lot of opportunities to celebrate with the people she loved as a kid since her dad was always moving the family around, but Danny had always tried his best to make the day something Debbie would remember. Her favorite Christmas had always been the Christmas after she turned twelve. Danny, sixteen years old and brooding, had taken her ice skating. They’d stayed at the rink for hours upon hours before sneaking into a screening of _It’s a Wonderful Life_. Not only had Debbie considered that day her perfect Christmas, but it was one of her favorite _days_ , period, because it was _their_ day, Danny and Debbie. And it would be Danny and Debbie  _forever._

 

Plans change.

 

Not having Danny with her, not getting even a stupid Christmas card or a phone call...it was hurting a lot more than Debbie expected. There were some things that 38 million dollars wouldn’t fix.

 

She considered calling Tess, but Debbie knew that that would be opening up an entirely different can of worms, one that would ultimately do more harm than good for the both of them.

 

So Lou it was.

 

“Wake up.” Debbie placed a gentle kiss on Lou’s neck before setting a plate of French toast (her signature dish – the only thing she knew how to make, really) on the nightstand.

 

Stirring and stifling a yawn, Lou glanced at the food before turning to Debbie. “What’s the occasion?”

 

“Very funny,” Debbie replied, slipping into a pair of dark jeans and a sweater. “You know what the occasion is.”

 

With a mouthful of food, Lou mumbled, “Of _course_ I know what the occasion is, I’m just a bit confused, considering you’re, y'know, Jewish.”

 

Debbie smirked. “Not exactly the religious sort.”

 

“Really? Hadn’t noticed. And isn’t that sort of the point of Christmas?” Lou made her way into the bathroom, leaving the door ajar.

 

“You don’t have to be such a – ”

 

“Deborah, if you say Grinch, I swear to God – ”

 

Debbie wrapped her arms around Lou’s waist from behind, enveloping the taller woman in a hug that was only slightly more endearing than the world’s most awkward prom photo. “I was going to say bitch, but hey. Your words, not mine.”

 

“Please. I’ve heard enough about this stupid holiday from Amita and Rose over the past few weeks.”

 

It was true. The crew had excitedly decorated the loft with wreaths and tinsel while Christmas music filled the air and the smell of freshly baked cookies wafted in from the kitchen. It was the happiest Debbie had been since she got out – well, with the exception of how she felt about that tiny little heist thing that they managed to pull off.

 

“You don’t really mean that. I saw you help Constance with her gingerbread house.”

 

Lou rolled her eyes. “Of course I don’t mean it. Anything that makes you happy, darling, is fine by me.”

 

“Because you love me?”

 

Lou slid out of Debbie’s embrace. “Something like that,” she smirked. As she searched for a jacket and Debbie started on her makeup, Lou called out, “You have to admit though, the commercialization is more than a little ridiculous.”

 

“You hate the cold, not the holiday. You’re Australian, and you hate the cold. Correct me if I’m wrong.” Exiting the bathroom to find Lou waiting expectantly, arms folded across her chest, Debbie blinked. “Leather on leather, in the middle of winter. How festive.”

 

“Hey,” Lou snapped. “There’s a pin.”

 

Debbie stepped closer and examined the blazer’s lapel. Sure enough, there sat a tiny glittering Santa hat.

 

Debbie couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m proud of you, baby.”

 

“Yeah, yeah. So what are you making me do today that required your buttering me up with breakfast?”

 

Debbie took another step forward, pulling lightly on the ends of the blazer. “I wouldn’t be able to convince you to take me ice skating, would I? How much more food would that take?”

 

“Deb, last time I tried to skate, I fell flat on my ass. You told me I looked like a baby giraffe.”

 

“It was very endearing.”

 

Lou kissed her forehead. “Nice try. Not gonna happen.”

 

“Fine. But we’re going out. I’m getting stir-crazy.”

 

Lou slumped down onto the edge of the bed, one finger tapping absentmindedly on her bottom lip. She shrugged halfheartedly.

 

“Chinese?”

 

Eh. What the hell.

“That’ll work.”

 

*

 

On their way back from their favorite Chinese food spot in Brooklyn (they knew Debbie’s order by heart), the snow started to fall. It started off slow, just a few flurries here and there, looking more like powdered sugar dusting the sidewalk than snow. Debbie watched Lou out of the corner of her eye; her cheeks were rosy from the cold and there were snowflakes sticking to her long eyelashes. If Debbie were a different kind of woman, she would have swooned right then and there. Instead, she grabbed Lou’s hand and they continued down the sidewalk that way.

 

They were still eight blocks away from the loft by the time the snow really started coming down, and they picked up their pace, making sure to avoid the icy patches that popped up every once in a while.

 

For the most part.

 

“You picked the food up before you picked _me_ up. On today of all days,” Lou grumbled, pushing open the door with the hip that wasn’t currently experiencing shooting pain. “Merry fucking Christmas to me.”

 

“I paid $7.25 for that lo mein. I wasn’t going to let it spill out of the container.” Debbie stripped Lou of her coat, shaking out the unmelted snow. “You’re cheaper than that.”

 

“Oh, honey, you should know by now; I am a _lot_ of things, but _cheap_? You must have me confused with someone else. Maybe Daphne.”

 

“Be nice.”

 

“I _am_ being nice.” Lou set the food on the counter and disappeared into the fridge. “We should call them all. You want eggnog or cocoa?”

 

“Surprise me.” Debbie spread out onto the couch. “Not today. They’re with their families. Let’s set something up for New Year’s.”

 

Kicking off her boots and sauntering over in her fuzzy socks (a guilty pleasure), Lou handed Debbie her favorite mug and sat down on the other end of the couch, lifting her girlfriend’s feet and settling them on her lap. “You make me go out on New Year’s Eve and your shit goes on the sidewalk.”

 

“Fair enough.” Silence hung in the air as the women sat, sipping their eggnog, Lou rubbing Debbie’s ankle until Debbie suddenly stood up.

 

“Remember how we definitely weren’t getting each other presents this year?”

 

Lou sighed. “Oh, God.”

 

Debbie smiled as she pulled an orange 8x10 envelope out of her purse. “Surprise.”

 

Lou stared for half a second, then reached out and took the envelope. Opening it with deft fingers, two pieces of paper fell out.

 

“Top one first,” Debbie instructed, sitting on the couch once more.

 

Lou’s eyes scanned the document. “You...got me a star.”

 

“I did.”

 

A pause.

 

“Any particular reason?”

 

“Well, it was only thirty bucks, and it seemed like the second-best option. Since I’d give you the whole galaxy if I could.”

 

Lou raised her eyebrows at that. “Smooth.”

 

“I try.” Debbie nodded at the envelope. “Keep going.”

 

The second document was on heavier paper. The image was stunning, constellations dancing, stars dotting over the image.

 

“Deb...”

 

“It’s the night sky from the day we met.”

 

“I know...I can’t believe you _remember_ that...”

 

Debbie scoffed. “Baby. You think I’d _forget_?”

 

Lou smiled and shook her head in wonder. “Alright, well, if we’re giving gifts...” Rising from her spot on the couch and going back to the kitchen, Lou opened the liquor cabinet and pulled out a small box.

 

“For you. I should’ve given it to you months ago, but...now’s as good a time as any.”

 

Pulling off the lid, Debbie found herself looking at a small gold locket. Upon opening it, she let out an audible gasp.

 

Because there was Debbie, six years old with a gap-toothed smile and an ice cream cone, and there was Danny, ten years old, looking at his little sister like she hung the moon.

 

“Where did you get this picture?”

 

“That photo album you keep under the bed. I’m surprised you didn’t notice I’d stolen it. Are you losing your touch? Because if you are – ”

 

Lou didn’t get to finish her sentence because all of a sudden, Debbie was kissing her with everything she had. She reached up to touch Lou’s cheeks. “Thank you. Thank you.” Undoing the clasp and pushing her hair out of the way, she handed the necklace to Lou. “Can you...?”

 

“Of course, honey.”

 

When the locket was secure, Lou jumped off the couch once more and started rifling through the numerous Christmas DVDs that Constance and Tammy had provided.

 

“ _It’s a Wonderful Life.”_

“Already grabbed it.”

 

Debbie smiled. No one on this planet deserved Lou Miller.

 

Popping _White Christmas_ into the DVD drive, Lou settled back down on the couch, spreading the rest of the DVDs on the coffee table.

 

“ _Die Hard_? Really?”

 

Lou raised a finger. “It is a Christmas movie, and I will not hear otherwise.”

 

The snow kept falling outside as they watched movie after movie, pausing every once in a while for a bathroom break or to grab some blankets.

 

By the time they got to _It’s a Wonderful Life,_ Lou was asleep not even thirty minutes into the film.

 

_“Why don’t you kiss her instead of talking her to death?”_

_“You want me to kiss her, huh?”_

_“Ah, youth is wasted on the wrong people.”_

A blonde head on her shoulder. One hand on the locket, the other wrapped around Lou’s waist.

 

Debbie smiled to herself.

 

A wonderful life, indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again, comments are my lifeline! If you comment, I'll buy you one (1) star. I might even let *you* be the one to name it.
> 
> love you!


	8. hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you made her pick, it would always be Debbie's hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just some good ol' fashioned fluff for you on this friday night.
> 
> comments are always appreciated xx

Lou Miller loved Debbie Ocean’s body.

 

Like, _really_ loved it. A _lot._

But that, of course, was a no-brainer.

 

She loved Debbie’s eyes, the way they shined, so brightly that Lou thought she might just die, or explode, or drown, or all of the above, if she stared into them for too long. That never stopped her from looking.

 

She loved her hips. How they’d move to the music drifting in from the record player Lou kept near the kitchen, or how they’d rock so rhythmically against Lou and her fingers when they’d both wake up at 4:30, already insatiable, hungry for each other’s touch. The tiny four-leaf-clover tattoo on her hipbone had aged just as well as Debbie had.

 

She loved Debbie’s hair, those dramatic chocolate waves that fell effortlessly down her back and always, _always_ looked good – bad hair days were non-existent with Debbie Ocean, and Debbie’s hair in a ponytail could put Lou’s hair to shame any time, anywhere, though Debbie would say otherwise. The nights where Lou would play with Debbie’s hair absentmindedly as Debbie lay snuggled against her chest...well, Lou wouldn’t trade those for the world.

 

But if you made Lou pick, her favorite part of Debbie Ocean’s body was her hands.

 

Debbie talked with her hands. If she were frustrated, her hands would move fast, sharp, in such an accusatory manner that you’d end up tripping over yourself and apologizing for whatever you did that was so wrong, even when you did _nothing wrong._ If she were excited (and Lou was one of the only people privy to Debbie Ocean at her most giddy, all gleaming eyes and dramatics), her hands would shake, moving in little bursts like fireworks. Her grin would spread across her face and her fingers would tap against whatever surface was available, unable to keep still.

 

Debbie’s hands knew Lou’s body forwards and backwards. They knew just where to touch to elicit a sigh, a moan, a whimper. They seemed to know what Lou wanted even before Lou herself did. They were the hands that would massage her shoulders at the end of a particularly taxing day, allowing Lou to let her guard down for once as she relaxed, because it was Debbie, and they were Debbie’s hands, and with Debbie there was warmth and there was safety and there was _love._ They were the hands that would gently caress Lou’s cheeks and wipe away the tears on the very rare occasion that the past became too much to handle by herself. Sometimes Lou wondered how the hell she’d survive if it weren’t for those hands.

 

She studied them. Stared at them like they were made of some kind of precious metal never before seen on this planet. Lou would grab one of Debbie’s hands in the early hours of the morning when they lay in bed, all tangled up in limbs or sheets or what have you.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“Don’t worry about it. Go back to sleep.”

 

Lou memorized the little things. Debbie had a callus on the left side of her ring finger on her right hand because she held her pen between her second and third fingers instead of between her first and second fingers like a normal person. Lou would tease her about it if she didn’t find it so damn endearing.

 

There was a tiny scar on her left palm and a mole on her right wrist. Lou would turn her hands over and over, just looking, transfixed, thinking about all the things that Debbie had _built_ with those hands. What she had built with Lou. The lives they’d forged from the ground up, _together._

 

Yes, Lou loved Debbie Ocean’s hands. More importantly, she just loved Debbie Ocean.

 

But most of all, she loved the way that Debbie’s hand would search for Lou’s in the middle of a crowded room.

 

Because when their fingers were laced together, they were unstoppable.

 

And when Lou’s hand was in Debbie’s, they fit perfectly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you leave a comment, i'll give you one (1) cookie of your choice. even oatmeal raisin, i GUESS.
> 
> love y'all.


	9. affair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She looks like Debbie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments, as always, are very much appreciated <3

“Whiskey neat.”

 

Lou couldn’t remember the last time she’d been on the other side of a bar – and alone, no less. The sensation felt almost foreign to her.

 

She tilted her head and rubbed the back of her neck, her multiple rings almost getting caught in her hair. First day off in weeks, yet she still couldn’t seem to escape the club lights and the smell of alcohol that hung heavy in the air.

 

And sure, it was a hotel bar and she was listening to smooth jazz instead of the typical pulsating EDM, but a bar was a bar and a drink was a drink.

 

What the hell was she _doing_ here?

 

Finishing her drink, Lou slid the shot glass back towards the bartender and nodded when he asked if she’d like another.  


“Let me get that for you. And I’ll have a vodka cranberry, please and thank you.”

 

Glancing to her left, Lou felt the corners of her lips turn up ever so slightly as she took in the woman who sat down on the stool next to her.

 

Long dark hair fell in her face before the woman tucked it behind her ears, revealing diamond studs and a blush that crept up her cheeks as she felt Lou studying her.

 

Her dress was low-cut, a tight, blood-red Prada number that showed off her perfectly toned arms, paired with matching stilettos that offered up a perfect view of the tiny butterfly tattoo on her right ankle.

 

 _God,_ did she look like Debbie.

 

Something in Lou’s stomach ached with longing.

 

“They’re from Charlotte Russe,” the woman said with a grin, moving her foot to show off the shoe, the clasp around her ankle glinting under the lights. “Don’t tell anyone.”

 

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

 

“You here alone?”

 

Lou nodded slowly after a sip of her drink. “Yeah.”

 

“Good thing I showed up when I did, then.”

 

Lou raised an eyebrow at the boldness of the other woman. Lou knew she looked good; that was nothing new. Lou _always_ looked good, and tonight was no exception. Her brand-new leopard print bustier put her cleavage on display and she had traded in her boots for a pair of Louboutins. It was a look that was just outside her typical wheelhouse, but she still oozed cool, oozed sex. She looked hot and _felt_ even hotter.

 

And as the woman next to her undressed Lou with her eyes, Lou felt like she was on fire.

 

“So. What do you do?” Sip.

 

“I _don’t_ talk about my personal life with someone I just met. Especially not in the bar at the St. Regis. Sorry.”

 

“So...you’d talk about it somewhere else? And it’s been three minutes. We’re acquainted.”

 

Lou snorted. “In your dreams, sweetheart.”

 

“Can I at least get your name?”

 

“Is there any particular reason you’re so _interested_ in my name?”

 

“Because I don’t sleep with strangers. I like a personal touch.”

 

Maybe it was the alcohol, but Lou felt dizzy.

 

“Gotta say, you drive a hard bargain.” The words spilled out of her mouth before she knew what she was doing.

 

The brunette laughed. “You don’t know the half of it.”

 

And against Lou’s better judgment, she laughed too.

 

“Lou.”

 

The woman next to her looked a little surprised and cocked her head to the side. “Short for anything?”

 

“Just Lou for now.”

 

“Well, Just Lou. I’m Tatiana. And I’m in 514 if you’re interested.” Handing Lou a key card and getting up from her seat, Tatiana ran a hand through her hair. “And – _oh._ ”

 

“What?” Following Tatiana’s gaze, she looked down and found herself staring at the glittering diamond on her ring finger.

 

Oh. Right. There was that.

 

“You didn’t mention a wife.”

 

“You didn’t ask.”

 

“Neither did you.” Tatiana lifted her own left hand and wiggled her fingers around, putting the prominent wedding band (which was reasonably larger than Lou’s – she’d have to talk to Deb about that) on display. “And yet here we both are.”

 

Trying to ignore the twinges of guilt that started to pop up around her heart out of _fucking nowhere_ , Lou glanced at the room key, then back at the woman in front of her.

 

Tatiana leaned forward. “Does she give you what you need?”

 

Lou bit her lip. Life with Deb was good, or as good as it could get between the two of them. And Lou was _happy_. For the first time in years, she was actually happy. At least that’s what she told herself.

 

But she didn’t say anything.

 

Why didn’t she say anything?

 

“That’s what I thought.” Tatiana reached out, tucked a stray piece of blonde hair behind Lou’s ear. “514.”

 

Adjusting the straps of her dress, Tatiana made her way towards the elevators as Lou watched her leave. Before stepping inside, Tatiana turned back, gave Lou a quick once-over and smirked.

 

Then she was gone.

 

Feeling yet another pair of eyes on her, Lou glanced up from the bar and locked eyes with the bartender, who looked like he was going to be sick.

 

Lou gave him a roll of her eyes. “Please. I bet you’ve seen worse come through here.”

 

“Well...yeah. But they’re rarely that blunt.” He swirled a towel around the inside of a glass. “What are you going to do?”

 

Lou turned the key card over in her hands. “Not sure. What would you recommend?”

 

The bartender was sputtering. Clearly, no one had ever asked him this before. “Um...I don’t...what would your _wife_ think?”

 

Lou considered it.

 

She thought about Debbie, the way she looked on their wedding day, the smile on her face, the way the dress billowed out around her, made her look like a princess.

 

She thought about Debbie, the fights they had, the fights they _kept having,_ the fights they’d _always have_ until the day they died or divorced or what have you. There were a lot of fights. Lou barely kept track anymore; they were probably her fault, anyway.

 

She thought about Debbie, the way she’d look at Lou when they laid in bed, the way she’d brush Lou’s bangs back so she could kiss her forehead, the way Lou would let her kiss her forehead.

 

She thought about Debbie, and sighed.

 

“I don’t know what she’d think.”

 

Handing the bartender a hundred-dollar bill, Lou smoothed down a crease on her pants before standing up.

 

“Keep the change.”

 

Lou stuffed her hands into her pockets before walking out of the bar and onto the elevator.

 

*

 

514.

 

It was a corner suite, with a little lounge area with a chaise immediately to the right of the door when you walked in. The tub in the bathroom had jets on the sides. For all intents and purposes, it was a very nice room to commit an act of adultery in.

 

And there she was, arms spread across the railing of the balcony, hair slightly tousled by the wind.

 

“Wasn’t sure you’d come.”

 

She didn’t bother turning around as Lou shut the door behind her.

 

Lou adjusted the collar of her blazer. “I’m here.”

 

Staring at the way Tatiana’s hips moved as she came back inside, Lou settled one shaking hand on the side of the nightstand.

 

Tatiana held out a bubbling glass. “Champagne?”

 

Lou took it, spun the flute around in her fingers, and kept her eyes on the carpet.

 

“Hey,” Tatiana bent down a little, tilting Lou’s chin up towards her. “Something on your mind?”

 

“Lots of things, actually.”

 

“Well, don’t think about them right now.” Setting her glass down, Tatiana settled herself in Lou’s lap and began to peel the blazer away from her shoulders. “Let me take care of that for you.”

 

“Can we cut the crap?”

 

The brunette blinked. “I’m sorry?”

 

“I want to go home.”

 

She stood. Paced back to the balcony. Turned towards Lou.  


“Why?”

 

“Because this isn’t _fun_ for me, Deb.”

 

 Debbie was quiet for a second.

 

“You know, maybe if you’d used a different name, you’d be having a good time right now.”

 

Lou scoffed. “I’m sorry that the thought of cheating on you isn’t appealing to me. But it’s good to know that we should’ve gotten a prenup.”

 

“What the hell is _wrong_ with you?”

 

“I don’t like feeling like another one of your _fucking_ marks, Deb! I’m your wife, for God’s sake! I just...” Lou ran a hand through her hair. “This isn’t a game I want to play. I want to go home.”

 

When Debbie opened her mouth to say something else, Lou quickly turned around, shook her head and hurried into the bathroom. Debbie cringed as the door slammed shut; not because Lou had run away so suddenly, but because she wasn’t able to hide the sob she was trying to muffle before Debbie could hear it.

 

After a minute, Debbie slid out of her heels and padded over towards the bathroom, knocking gently on the door before leaning against the wall.

 

“Can I come in?”

 

The door unlocked with a click.

 

Lou was sitting on the edge of the tub, a couple of tissues crumpled up around her feet. Debbie slid down to the floor so that she was facing her wife. Lou’s kohl eyeliner was streaked down her face.

 

“I’m sorry. You just...seemed like you were having an okay time.”

 

Lou shrugged.

 

Debbie continued. “I know how low you’ve been feeling lately. We’ve been fighting a lot, and...I guess I just thought that we needed to spice things up.”

 

“On our first anniversary?”

 

It was Debbie’s turn to shrug. “Amita thought it’d be a good idea.”

 

“ _Amita?_ ”

 

“Who did you expect me to turn to for advice on big romantic gestures?”

 

“Tammy’s married.”

 

“Tammy’s _Tammy._ With this, I at least thought there’d be a good story to get out of it. And good sex.”

 

“So now we don’t have good sex?”

 

“Lou.” Debbie scooted closer and pulled herself up next to her wife. “What’s wrong? What’s this about?”

 

Lou closed her eyes, bit her lip a little before turning to Debbie. “I don’t know you anymore.”

 

“But you _do_ , baby. Believe me. You’re the only one who does.” Debbie kissed her temple. “The only one.”

 

“It doesn’t feel like it.” Lou stood up and walked out of the bathroom, choosing to sit on the bed instead.

 

“Doesn’t make it not true.” Debbie joined her, squeezing her hand. “Hey. I hate seeing you this upset. What can I do?”

 

Lou looked at Debbie. Debbie looked at Lou.

 

_Tell me the truth._

Debbie wasn’t good with the truth.

 

It wasn’t in her nature.

 

Lou, on the other hand, was _extremely_ good with it. It didn’t make her any less of a fantastic con woman; if anything, it allowed her to play the game even more brilliantly.

 

Now, when it came to Lou, Deb would _always_ tell the truth. She’d learned that the hard way – they’d already wasted far too much time dancing around it.

 

“If you want to go home, let’s go home. I’m sorry tonight didn’t turn out the way you thought it would. Lesson learned.” Debbie leaned over to grab her shoes. “Just...please stop blaming yourself. Couples fight. We fight. But you...” Fastening the straps around her ankles, Debbie placed her hands on the sides of Lou’s arms. “It’s never about you. I love you. I’m _always_ going to love you. I’m in this for as long as you’ll have me by your side.”

 

It wasn’t exactly what Lou wanted to hear, but it was enough. And Debbie could tell; she could tell by the way her eyes softened, that she’d gotten through to her.

 

“Although,” she teased, “I hope this doesn’t mean that your kinks have changed unexpectedly. I know way too much about bondage now for you to switch up on me. And did I mention how incredible your tits look tonight?”

 

“You are completely insufferable...”

 

“And you are _brilliant_.” Debbie closed the gap between them. “You are beautiful, and sharp, and instinctual, and I am the luckiest woman to be able to call you my wife. You make me want to be a better criminal, honey.”

 

“Sweet.”

 

“It _is_ our anniversary. So,” Debbie wrapped her arms around Lou’s waist and whispered in her ear. “Shall we go home, Mrs. Ocean?”

 

Lou bit back her smile. “Did you actually reserve this room for us?”

 

“I did.”

 

Lou let out a little hum before casting a glance back towards the door.

 

“Lou?”

 

Lou fell back onto the bed and settled herself against the pillows.

 

“Alright, _Tatiana_ ,” she growled. “Take that dress off.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i got this idea from the modern family running joke with claire and phil on valentine's day and then it...got kinda sad.
> 
> but hey, that's my forte with these two, apparently.
> 
> please please please pLEASE leave a comment!! love you!!


	10. heatwave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's hot in the loft.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends!!! After a long month of being in school and performing in a show, I am FINALLY back to write for all of you beautiful lovelies!!!
> 
> Aaaaand if any of you, my dear readers, also follow 'those you've known', just know that chapter six should hopefully be up in the next week or two!!!!!
> 
> So happy to be back!! As always, please leave me a comment, I'd love to hear what you think!!

“Hey, Lou? Remember when you said this place was a bitch to heat?”

 

“Mm.”

 

“Yeah, well, how about maybe getting some A/C installed?” Daphne swirled a straw around the inside of her glass of iced tea, the ice clinking along the sides. “It’s ungodly in here.”

 

The groans of agreement coming from around the room made Lou roll her eyes. Reaching for the beer bottle she had left on the coffee table, she pushed her damp bangs to the other side of her forehead for what felt like the tenth time that day. “It’s an old building, it doesn’t work like that. And I’m not a miracle worker.”

 

“So you’ve just been sweating your ass off every summer since you’ve moved here? Charming.”

 

“I’m Australian! It doesn’t exactly _affect_ me the same way. But if you’re too hot, Daph, you’re welcome to come back another time.”

 

Daphne narrowed her eyes. “Bitch.”

 

“I have an idea!” Constance’s hand popped up from where she was sprawled out on the floor, waving her beanie around her face like a fan.

 

“I’m willing to hear anything at this point.” Daphne swiveled around, tossing her hair dramatically.

 

“Okay. So we should – and hear me out real quick,” Constance started, “We should go to the water park. Here’s why – ”

 

Five other women shook their heads in exasperation. “No.”

 

Constance let out a high-pitched whine. “But Tammy’s there right now!”

 

“Tammy actually has _children_.”

 

“I’m a children!”

 

“Okay, moving on?” Amita sighed. “Lou, where is Deb? We’ve been waiting for like, an hour.”

 

Nine-Ball looked up from her laptop. “It’s been twenty minutes.”

 

“Still!”

 

“She’s got a point, dear,” Rose mumbled from her place on the couch. “It’s not like Deborah to be late to her own function.”

 

Daphne examined her nails. “I don’t know, maybe she felt how goddamn _hot_ it was in here and decided to leave you.”

 

Lou stared at her.

 

Amita fixed Daphne with a glare (or as much of a glare as the petite brunette could muster). “That’s not funny, Daphne. You should apologize.”

 

“Fine. Whatever. Sorry.” Daphne bit her lip. “Really. I’m sorry.”

 

Lou waved her off. “It’s fine. She should be back soon.”

 

“What are we doing here, anyway?”

 

Lou fiddled with the watch on her wrist. “She’s been planning something.”

 

More exasperated groans.

 

“You’ve _got_ to be kidding me!”

 

“Ooh, what’s this one about?” Daphne perked up immediately. “Drugs? Can it be about drugs, I’ve always wanted to be a drug mule.”

 

“...what?” Lou shook her head at Daphne. “I don’t know what she’s got in that head of hers. She doesn’t like to tell me. But I can assure you it won’t entail your being a _drug mule._ ”

 

“Lou, I’m really not in the mood to partake in some light criminal activity today.” Amita crinkled her eyebrows. “Any chance we could postpone?”

 

“Not my place to say,” Lou shrugged as Amita fell back in her seat with a sigh.

 

“Is it your place to say whether we go to the water park, ‘cause like – ”

 

“Constance, _shut up._ ”

 

“Fine! I’ll ask mom!”

 

As if on cue, Debbie opened the door to the loft, popping her earbuds out of her ears (Nine had practically shoved a new smartphone into her hands when she discovered that Deb still primarily used a Walkman for her music-listening needs) and throwing her keys onto the kitchen counter.

 

“You’re late,” deadpanned Daphne.

 

“No, I’m...shit,” Debbie glanced at her Fitbit. “I am. Sorry about that, everyone.”

 

“It’s fine. No, it’s _perfect_ , we’ve just been talking shit about your wife and her inability to keep this place at a reasonable temperature.”

 

“You really are free to go, _Daph_ ,” Lou mumbled, her jaw set, relaxing a little only after Debbie gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

 

“Lookin’ good, mama,” Nine winked at Debbie, who gave her a smile in return as she smoothed down the waistband of her grey yoga pants. She had paired them with white sneakers and a navy blue sports bra, which showed off her perfectly toned abs.

 

“Yeah, Deb, when did you start running? I would’ve gone with you.” Amita cocked her head to one side. “Well, maybe not, but I would’ve been supportive.”

 

“Few months ago.” Debbie took her ponytail out, shaking out her chocolate waves as they fell down her back. “Wanted to make sure these stuck around for a while,” she added, gesturing to her abs.

 

“Did you work out in prison or something?”

 

Debbie grinned. “Maybe. How else do you think I got these arms?”

 

“Hell yeah! Gun show!” Constance pumped her fist enthusiastically.

 

“Oh, it’s much appreciated, believe me,” Lou purred, pulling Debbie down onto her lap.

 

“Hey!” Rose stuck her lower lip out and her eyes widened with concern. “Are you about to start having sex? C-can you at least wait until I leave the room this time?”

 

“Can we _please_ just get on with this? Before your wife starts melting like the wicked witch she is?”

 

“Okay, what the _fuck_ is your problem, Daphne? You’ve been up my ass since you got here,” Lou seethed at her.

 

“Oh, excuse me for being pissed at someone who can’t seem to get it through her head that not everyone likes to take up residence in an apartment hotter than the surface of the sun!”

 

“So there’s a plan, Deb? Please tell us about the plan,” Amita begged.

 

“Uh, right! Plan.” Debbie stood up and began to pace around the room, circling the girls like a shark, what she always did when she was about to launch into a heist breakdown. “When we were kids, Danny and I always had this bet that...” Debbie trailed off before clearing her throat. “Sorry. So we had a bet. And we decided that whoever...” she grew quiet once again before turning to Lou, eyes already gleaming apologetically. “I’m sorry, baby, but it is _really_ hot in here.”

 

“ _Jesus_ , Deb!”

 

“I’m sorry! I wouldn’t have said anything if it weren’t this bad!”

 

Daphne gave Lou a satisfied smirk. “Even your wife agrees with me.” She turned to Deb. “Is this really the first time you’ve _noticed_?”

 

“I mean...I don’t really spend time out here unless I’m thinking things through, writing them out. And I like to do that at night, and it’s cooler at night,” Debbie explained matter-of-factly.

 

“Or you just like making sure that blondie is appeased.”

 

Lou was up in a flash, stalking towards the starlet as Deb and Amita tried grabbing onto her arms to hold her back. “I’m going to _kill you_.”

 

Constance’s voice rose up above the shouting. “Is this a bad time to mention that the water park has admission for only 15 bucks on Tuesdays??”

 

“You know, it’s starting to sound like a decent idea,” mumbled Nine, eyes darting around the room worriedly.

 

“Yes, yes, I believe a lazy river might do me some good,” Rose started, jumping up from the couch and wringing her hands.

 

“It’s also usually BYOB but they make some kickass margaritas,” offered Constance.

 

That made Daphne freeze in her tracks. “Margaritas?” Her eyes darted from Lou to Deb to Constance and back to Lou. “Fine. Sounds great. Let’s go.” Daphne grabbed her purse from behind the couch and was the first one to the door, yet the last one to leave. She gave Lou a wink. “You’re driving, right?”

 

As the door slammed shut, Debbie and Lou were left standing in stunned silence.

 

“Can you please explain to me _what_ the fuck that was all about?” Lou sunk back into her chair and tilted her head back.

 

“In all fairness, I’ve only been back for less than ten minutes,” responded Debbie as she grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator.

 

“That was uncalled for, right? I’m not crazy?”

 

“No, baby, she was off the handle. You’re good,” Debbie smiled as she gave Lou a kiss on her forehead. “But you should probably try to get this fixed.”

 

“There’s a guy coming on Tuesday, okay?!”

 

“Okay! Jesus, don’t yell at _me_.”

 

“I’m not _yelling_ –”

 

“Did you tell Daphne that there’s a guy coming on Tuesday?”

 

Lou blinked. “.............it might have slipped my mind.”

 

“Well, see, that would have saved you a lot of trouble with her, huh?”

 

Lou rolled her eyes. “I’m sure she would’ve found something to complain about. Vapid little – ”

 

“Careful. She’d sue you.”

 

“Oh please,” Lou snorted. “For what? Defamation of character?”

 

“I think she’s still mad that you hijacked her movie release.”

 

“What?”

 

“Your birthday.”

 

“Oh. _Ohhh._ Shit. Of course, that’s got to be it.” It hadn’t been Lou’s fault that her birthday had happened to fall on the same day that Daphne’s newest film was rolled out in theaters. Or that Deb had insisted on letting Lou pick what they wanted to do that night since it was _her_ birthday. Or that Daphne ended up squished in the back of their Uber since Lou called shotgun.

 

“She’ll get over it. She always does. And as long as you get some A/C installed soon, I’m sure you’ll both be fine. Because – you know I love you, right? More than anything?”

 

“Deborah, where are you going with this?”

 

“You’re extremely moody when you’re hot.”

 

“ _What?!_ No I’m not!”

 

“Listen to you. You’re whining. You usually only do that in our bedroom.”

 

“No I’m – _look,_ it should not be this hot in the middle of fucking October!”

 

“Oh, so you admit that it’s hot?”

 

“I – _yes._ It’s hot. I fucked up. It’s getting fixed, leave me alone.”

 

“Lou, you’re sweating. Maybe you should – and I’m just spitballing here – take your shirt off. I bet you’d feel a _lot_ better.” Debbie’s fingertips danced along Lou’s hips as she pulled her close.

 

“We are _not_ having sex right now, Deborah.”

 

“Oh, really? Because...?”

 

“Because it’s too hot,” Lou muttered. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”

 

“Maybe.”

 

“You’re so irritating.”

 

“You love me.”

 

“I _tolerate_ you.”

 

“Hmm, sure, if you say so,” Debbie beamed at her wife as she gently pulled her down for a kiss; the moment didn’t last long as the door to the loft flung open and Constance darted past them.

 

“Forgot my floaties!” she called over her shoulder.

 

“You’re a grown woman,” Debbie reminded her as she closed her eyes in annoyance.

 

“Yeah, I’m a grown-ass woman who loves her flamingo floaties!” Constance made her way back to the door. “You coming?”

 

Slam.

 

Lou shot Debbie a look. “We’re not really doing this, are we?”

 

“Doesn’t seem like we have a choice.” Debbie shrugged. “Could be fun. Haven’t seen you in a bikini in a while.”

 

“Keep dreaming.”

 

“Hey.” Debbie touched Lou’s wrist. “Drop the kids off. Steal a drink. And then take a walk with me.”

 

“A walk? Really?”

 

“Yeah. Just us. Some quality time out of the house.”

 

“I do enjoy spending time with you.”

 

“That’s good, otherwise this whole ‘marriage’ thing would get real old, real fast.”

 

A loud “ _MOMS!!”_ from outside cut through the silence.

 

Squeezing Lou’s hand, Debbie smiled at her. “Shall we?”

 

A tiny smile spread across Lou’s face.

 

“Sure. Why not.”

 

As Lou locked the door behind her and they started down the steps towards their friends, hand in hand, Debbie whispered in her ear:

 

“Wow, baby, it’s so nice and _cool_ out here – ”

 

“Shut it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by real events, aka the heating in my apartment building went on this week and the A/C officially turned off even though it has been in the FREAKING EIGHTIES THIS WEEK. IN THE MIDDLE OF OCTOBER. IT'S BEEN ROUGH, Y'ALL.
> 
> Again, would love to hear your thoughts, and whether you enjoyed this silly lil thing or not!! Love you guys <3


	11. taste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wives have a meal and a conversation.
> 
> trigger warning: implied disordered eating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> might be a bit heavy-handed, but i felt like writing.
> 
>  
> 
> TYK chapter 7 in a few weeks, i promise <3
> 
>  
> 
> as always, comments and criticism appreciated

“You need to eat.”

 

Lou shook that day’s copy of _The New York Times_ and raised an eyebrow as she peered at Debbie, who was standing directly in front of her from her spot at the poker table. “Sorry?”

 

“You heard me. Come on.” Yanking the newspaper out of her hands, Debbie pulled Lou to her feet and began tugging her towards the couch.

 

“Hey. _Hey._ Slow down. Jesus.”

 

“Don’t tell me you didn’t notice I was making lunch.”

 

“I don’t think it counts as lunch if it’s 4 in the afternoon.”

 

“Early dinner. Whatever. Eat.” Debbie sat down, pushed her hair back and picked up a fork, staring at Lou expectantly all the while.

 

Lou blinked at the plate in front of her. “Spaghetti?”

 

“Spaghetti. Your mom’s recipe.”

 

“That’s...very sweet of you.”

 

“It was pretty straightforward. I added extra oregano.”

 

“Bold.”

 

“Lou. Sit.”

 

“There’s only one plate.”

 

“We’re splitting it. I made extra and can’t eat all of it myself.”

 

“...you really planned all this out, didn’t you?”

 

Debbie smirked. “Don’t I always?”

 

Lou’s eyes darted in the direction of her bedroom. Debbie wasn’t budging any time soon. With a resigned sigh, Lou sat down on the other end of the couch, crossing her legs at the ankle. “Alright. You got me down here.”

 

“Yes, and the next logical step would be to pick up a fork.”

 

“Deb, why are you doing this?”

 

Dabbing a bit of sauce off of the corner of her mouth, Debbie shifted her bite of pasta to one side and muttered, “Because I haven’t seen you eat since 7 last night, so that means it’s almost been 24 hours.”

 

“Deb, I have to leave for work soon...”

 

“Exactly. Eat.”

 

Lou’s brow furrowed and she felt her breath hitch in her throat. “...what’s this really about, Deb?”

 

“It’s exactly what it looks like.”

 

“...right.”

 

“Look, I’m not Tammy, okay? I’m not going to sit you down at her dinner table in front of everyone and make you eat some of her Christmas ham, or whatever the hell it was that she made.”

 

“It was ham. Pineapple-glazed.”

 

“She burnt it. It was disgusting. And she embarrassed you.”

 

“Honey, I really need to go get ready.”

 

“Five bites.” Debbie held the fork out, pasta poised on its tines, sauce falling onto the edge of the plate with a splat. “That’s all I ask.”

 

As Lou wrapped her lips around Debbie’s fork, she rolled her eyes. “Must you always be this obnoxious?”

 

“Yes. One down, four to go.”

 

“ _Deb._ ” Debbie glanced up at her and although her bangs were shielding her eyes, she could tell how pensive the look on Lou’s face was. “Why are you doing this?”

 

“Because you’re my wife and I care about you.”

 

“That’s it?”

 

“...well, Jesus, I thought that would be reason enough, but – ”

 

“ _Deborah._ ”

 

Debbie set her fork down with a sigh. “I just want to make sure you’re staying healthy. That’s important to me. It’s the holidays, you know? I know how difficult this time of year is for you.”

 

“...yeah, okay.”

 

“What? I mean it. There’s a lot of...”

 

“Food?”

 

“Yes, and that can be overwhelming.”

 

“Well, I’m sorry, honey, but force feeding me pasta isn’t exactly _underwhelming._ ” Lou took two more bites.

 

Debbie shrugged. “Gets the job done, apparently. There are meatballs too, if you’re interested.”

 

“Be right back.”

 

Lou was halfway to the bathroom before Debbie spoke again. “If you’re looking for the scale, I threw it out last week.”

 

“What?”

 

“You heard me.” Debbie turned to look at her, settling one arm along the back of the couch. “Come on back.”

 

Lou folded her arms across her chest before taking a few tentative steps towards her. “You _threw out_ my scale?”

 

“You don’t need it.”

 

“Yes, I do!”

 

“ _No,_ you don’t. And two bites of pasta isn’t going to make a damn difference anyway.” Debbie patted the couch next to her.

 

“Deborah, I swear to God...”

 

“I have an idea.”

 

Lou landed on the couch once more. “And what would that be?”

 

“We’re going to do that thing from that Disney movie.”

 

“What Disney movie?”

 

“The one with the dogs.”

 

Lou bit back a smile as it dawned on her. “ _Lady and the Tramp?_ ”

 

“Yes. I’m the lady.”

 

“Of course you are. I don’t think any of these noodles are long enough to make that dream come true for you.”

 

“Oh. What a shame. Guess we’re just going to have to eat these the normal way.”

 

“You’re acting like I haven’t already eaten three bites.”

 

“You owe me two more.”

 

Lou rolled her eyes again but took two more bites of spaghetti. Debbie grinned.

 

“Very nice.”

 

“Can I go now?”

 

“I’m meal prepping for the rest of the month, if you want me to make anything.”

 

“You know I’m a better cook than you.”

 

“Yes, and I also know that you’ll make food for everyone else and then never eat anything yourself. As we’ve just spent the past ten minutes demonstrating.”

 

Lou opened her mouth to respond, but closed it at the last second, choosing instead to simply shrug.

 

Debbie reached out and took Lou’s hand in her own. “Look. I already told the girls not to bring anything else with them when they’re here on Saturday. That we’ll provide dinner.”

 

“That won’t stop them. Rose hasn’t been able to shut up about her damn lemon squares, and I need to stick to my meal plan.”

 

“What you _need_ is to enjoy the holidays, and if that means not counting calories for a day, then so be it. And if anyone brings any kind of dessert into this house that was not pre-approved by yours truly, I’ll kick them out.”

 

“Getting mixed messages here, Deb.”

 

“All I’m trying to say is that you don’t need to worry. I know how important it is for you to stay on track, but it’s okay to indulge. It really is. You’re not broken if you eat a sugar cookie or two.”

 

“I know.”

 

“I know you know. But anything I can do to help you is important to me.”

 

“How sweet.”

 

“It’s Christmas. Spirit of giving, all that shit.”

 

Lou laughed as she rubbed the back of her neck. “Nice. I, uh...I really do appreciate it, though. I haven’t called the recovery center in...a while. I probably should have done that by now.”

 

“Don’t worry about it. You’ve got me.” Debbie kissed Lou’s cheek before pulling her knees towards her and dragging the plate closer. “Have a good night at the club. Stay safe.”

 

“Thank you, love. I always do.”

 

With that, Lou gave Debbie a wink and headed towards her room, but not before eating another forkful of pasta.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The holidays can be a rough time for anyone in recovery but there are always resources available. The National Eating Disorders Association has a helpline available 9-9 Monday through Thursday and 9-5 on Friday: (800)-931-2237. You are not alone.

**Author's Note:**

> please please please leave comments!! I love reading your feedback and it makes me smile and if you leave a comment, i'll send you one (1) free hug whenever you need it most :)


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